falling backwards
by Mia-Zeklos
Summary: A collection of short fics written for the Jonsa Drabble Challenge, all focused on Jon and Sansa in many different settings.
1. Time

**Notes: First fic for this ship _and_ these characters. This challenge was really, uh, challenging because of these reasons and also because it made me portray Jon and Sansa in so many different ways - there will be ten of them in total. The drabbles are mostly unrelated to each other, with one exception a bit further down the line. Other than that, they're all standalones. Title taken from _Pluto_ by Sleeping at Last, which also doubles as a background. All in all, this was an amazing journey; I hope it makes for a good read!**

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 **Day One: mountains | stone by stone | winterfell. 200 words.**

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"I don't know what I'm supposed to do with this," Sansa said suddenly and her voice in the amicable silence that has reigned around them all morning was enough to startle Jon out of his focus. There were enough people helping them for the sounds of it all to melt into a quiet buzz and until now, Jon had been almost entirely immersed in his own task for the day – remaking the knocker for the front gates of the building.

He glanced up at her current work – she'd insisted on engraving their house's sigil into at least one of the stones that would eventually go into repairing the castle walls. They'd been cut out from the closest rocks they had been able to find for the sole purpose of making sure that when Winterfell was completely restored, everything in it would come from the North, and it was only natural for her to be having trouble, especially considering that she had never done anything of the sort before.

"Here," Jon said, leaning closer and adjusting her grip on the handle enough to make the angle easier to work with. "Just give yourself time."

 _Time_. This, at least, they could afford.


	2. The Kingsroad

**Notes: Vaguely supposed-to-be-post-canon thing although, it being a drabble, it doesn't dwell into detail too much.**

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 **Day Two: crown of winter | travel | father. 200 words.**

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Sansa could easily remember the last time she had travelled on the Kingsroad – both for the experience itself and for everything that had come after it. The company had been vastly different back then, as had been the purpose of their visit to King's Landing, and it was almost good thing that there were so many things had changed in the meantime – she didn't think she would have been able to bear it otherwise. Even now, so many years later and with the full awareness that she was _safe_ , it would have been difficult to entirely repress the anxiety that had coiled around her chest at the mere thought of it for the last month or so.

But this was nothing remotely like it; she had reminded herself that as soon as she had woken up this morning. It had been her father holding her hand as he had led her into their carriage during that first trip, and she had been both excited and a little apprehensive. It was all replaced by determination now and she kept herself upright, careful not to upset the balance of the crown on her head as she took her place next to Jon.


	3. Spring

**Notes: Supposed to be post-canon again. IIRC I'm going to start deviating from that theme with tomorrow's entry, but I think this drabble hits all the prompts for today.**

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 **Day Three: snow and stone | past | children. 300 words.**

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The snow was melting already. It would never be truly warm while it was still spring, not in Winterfell, but it didn't have to be – it was melting, and Sansa had never been more grateful for the sight of that.

She hadn't been the only one – Arya had gone to look around the castle to see if there were any animals to be found already as what they had saved thorough the past few months was starting to look decidedly insufficient. Even Bran, usually so caught up in his dreams of other places, had come out to see, and Jon—

"I see someone told you already."

"It's all everyone's talking about." Sansa's smile widened even more at the sight of the water dripping from the nearest tower as the sound of familiar footsteps approached from behind.

"You loved the snow when we were children," Jon said, amusement lacing his tone. "Whatever was left of it by the time we were old enough to actually appreciate it, that is. Remember the snowballs we would throw at each other sometimes?"

"All I remember is Arya throwing them at me." There had also been Robb doing the exact same thing, and their father, trying so hard to look like he disapproved, and Mother's scolding— but it had been a different kind of snow, then, its slow disappearance going hand in hand with regret rather than overwhelming relief.

"I wouldn't put it past her now either," Jon noted and Sansa let her fingers intertwine with his when he reached for her hand. "You might want to go back inside."

"I'd like to stay a little longer."

The sun had come out from behind the clouds while she'd been standing here and really, she couldn't have made herself leave even if she had tried to.


	4. Escape

**Notes: Inevitably, for this one I resorted to a secret wedding and eloping afterwards. The next drabble will be a follow-up to this one, since there's only so much you can do with a specific wordcount.**

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 **Day Four: cloaking | steal me | the long night. 500 words.**

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Jon stared at the heavy piece of cloth laid out on the bed in front of him, for the first time today managing to focus on anything but the all-encompassing anxiety that had taken over him. Quite an achievement considering the circumstances, but then again, he had hoped for that exact result – that the ceremony they had decided on would be enough to make them both forget about everything else at least for as long as it lasted. So far, the plan seemed exceptionally effective.

It was _breathtaking_ , the intricate lines of white and grey enough to make up for – and almost entirely mask – the lack of a house sigil. Sansa had offered to make it herself (had even offered to put the direwolf on it but it didn't feel right; not when he was taking her away from her family instead of vowing to protect her under its name), and he had protested whenever she had mentioned it – with everything she was risking for this, the least he could do was arrange for someone else to sew her bridal cloak.

This day had been _months_ in the planning. They had both done things to get here that they would have never considered before – just yesterday, Sansa had taken the majority of her possessions out of Winterfell along with enough gold to last them for a while before they managed to make things work on their own – but it had been worth it and now, as Jon prepared to make that last step, he was as convinced of that as he would ever get.

It wouldn't go the way that Northern marriages usually did. If that had been the case, they would have never needed a cloak; wouldn't have memorised the oaths that the Faith of the Seven demanded. But they had no witness they could rely on for a real wedding, and no way of officiating it just because of that, so they'd opted for one of the few septons living in the North instead. It was all that needed to be done for them to be able to defend the validity of their marriage if it ever came to that, and their father—

 _Their father_. Gods, what were they _thinking_? It was already a miracle that no one had found out about them after all those years; had they really come so far as to assume that that meant they could leave everything – their home and the only family they had ever known – behind? The thought alone was enough to make Jon's head spin.

"Are you ready to go?"

He spun on his heel and suddenly, the sight of Sansa in her bridal gown – one he hadn't seen before, white streaked with silver – was the only encouragement he really needed.

"Yes." He would do anything to keep her – _this_ – safe, would face any danger that they could come across, and he'd said so countless times already; it was about time he made good on his word. "I am."


	5. Protection

**Notes: A continuation of yesterday's prompt and the secret wedding theme.**

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 **Day Five: future | protection | weirwood. 200 words.**

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They found themselves in the godswood after the wedding ceremony, eager to feel closer to what they had actually wanted, no matter how dangerous it was to be here. It was already the dead of night, though, which was the worst possible time for anyone to decide to visit the Weirwood, and they had fallen quiet at some point, both from the need to be cautious and the overwhelming realisation of what they had just done. They still hadn't exhausted all the things they needed to discuss – not at all – but having a moment to breathe was _pleasant_ and Jon welcomed the opportunity to think things through.

 _Married_. It was still so strange to think about; to look at Sansa and know that they had chosen this together despite everything that it would cost them. They were man and wife now, and nothing could change that.

"I don't regret anything, before you start panicking about that," Sansa said, a wry smile playing on her lips as she tugged the bridal cloak tighter around her shoulders. "We _will_ make it, one way or another."

"I know." He wasn't sure _how_ , but they would, and Jon was already looking forward to it.


	6. Wildlings

**Notes: This just... hits all the spots on this day's prompts, I think.**

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 **Day Six: here and now | wildling | sigils. 400 words.**

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"And you want— what, exactly?"

Sansa was doing her best to sound like anything said thus far had been even remotely _acceptable_ , but wasn't very confident in the results – not when Jon Snow was still staring at her with clear, deep-rooted distrust. She had listened to his concerns – and there were many of them; the White Walkers, the oncoming winter, the long night – for quite a while now, and while she sympathised with them for what they were going through, Sansa knew better than to show it.

"Safe passage through Castle Black," the man said, gesturing towards the entrance behind her as if there was any way to misunderstand his intentions. "We won't harm anyone, you have my word. The Lord Commander told us there were lands to be farmed there; ones that no one uses either way."

"There are." Sansa wasn't particularly happy with having her territories advertised, but she couldn't do much to stop it – the Wall and everything that happened on – and beyond – it were outside of her control. She could either agree to or decline this proposal, but she couldn't stop anyone from talking. "How do I know if I can trust you?"

Jon Snow's expression brightened considerably. He had lived on the other side of the Wall, once, or that's what the stories said, and he _knew_ the way highborn lords and ladies spoke. Apparently, that knowledge included the Queen in the North. "So you agree?"

"That is not what I said." Sansa stepped closer, trying to assess the people behind him. One of them could make for a good guarantee, maybe, or—

"You can take my direwolf."

As if on cue, the large animal – not as big as Sansa had expected, and much smaller than the ones she and her siblings had, but undeniably a direwolf nevertheless – made its way through the small group of wildling scouts.

"You can keep Ghost in your castle for sixty days," Snow went on, encouraged by her silence. "I'll come to look after him now and then, or he won't behave. _That_ is how you know that you can trust me, and that's how I'll see if I can trust you."

"That's not all." Sansa pulled on the rope dangling behind her, signalling for the door to be opened. "There's still plenty to discuss."

Jon Snow grinned, far too victorious for her taste. "We better start now, then."


	7. Alayne

**Notes: Sort of missed updating here yesterday because this website couldn't get itself together. Based on a version of events where Sansa is Catelyn's illegitimate daughter who stayed at Riverrun when her mother married Ned.**

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 **Day Seven: alayne | summer | knights. 500 words.**

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The feast had been going on for what felt like hours already by the time Jon noticed the girl next to him.

She seemed about as bored as he was and he couldn't blame her: nothing remotely interesting had happened since the tournament had ended and clearly, she wasn't deemed important or mature enough to be presenting herself in front of the Court and the potential suitors it had brought with itself. Jon hadn't even been allowed to go sit next to Robb and see the knights and the royal family up close, no matter how much his brother had insisted, and his exile to the farthest corner of the hall had left him all on his own. The food was good, he had to admit that much, and the change of scenery this far from the North was a welcome one for the time being, but that didn't make it any more exciting.

It was somewhere around that time that the girl spoke.

"Soon the King will get bored of this and we'll be allowed to leave."

Jon turned to look at her. She seemed to be somewhere around his age, and looked far too much like Lady Catelyn to not be a part of her family; her blue eyes and red hair a good enough giveaway. Her sister's daughter, he supposed, but if that was the case, why was she here, all the way to the back of the room?

"How would you know that?"

"Has the Court never visited any of your tourneys before?" She sounded almost _scandalised_ by the prospect and Jon tried not to take offence.

"My Lord Father says we're too far up North for that."

"You're a highborn." She was amused, now, and Jon cursed himself for the slipup. Now he would have to explain and it never failed to be humiliating, even if, judging by the girl's manner of speaking, he wasn't alone – she was the same, neither here nor there, educated by her supposed family and yet turned away whenever they had to be presentable. "Why did he banish you back here?"

"It was— Lady Catelyn's idea for me to keep away from the King and his family." Jon's embarrassment suddenly took second place to the spark of interest in the girl's eyes. "Said the Queen could be offended by the presence of a bastard."

"Well, you needn't worry," the stranger said breezily, leaning back into her chair, her eyes darting around the room again. "At least you can get out whenever you want, and you _will_ want to: it's only going to get stuffier here the more people come in. I could even show you the castle, if you'd like..."

"Jon," he introduced himself when she trailed off. "Jon Snow."

"Alayne Stone," she said as she got to her feet, already extending a hand toward him to help him up. "Come along, Jon Snow. Nights are short this time of the year, and there is a lot to be seen."


	8. Songs of Summer

**Notes: This one was really nice to write, although it did make me more than a little sad, all things considered. Based on a semi-AU in which Jon and Sansa live through the Long Night.**

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 **Day Eight: night's king | songs | the wall. 200 words.**

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She couldn't feel her hands anymore. Sansa had tried denying it for a while, even after she had passed the threshold of _painfully cold_ some hours ago, but now, as Jon's fingers closed around hers in an attempt to warm them up, the realisation was inevitable – she could barely feel his touch.

"It's late," he said and what little she could make out of his features in the darkness around them was clouded with worry. It was almost as alarming as the quiet cries coming from the opposite direction and she no longer knew where to look. "We should try and get some sleep, or we'll never manage to get through this."

"I'll be with you in a moment," Sansa promised and got to her feet. Nearing the corner of the room, she studiously avoided looking through the window and the landscape that awaited there – the white ghost of the Wall and everything that hid in the fog beyond it – and leant in over the crib there. It was easy, muscle memory, really, to start singing one of her favourite songs of eternal summer even as she heard her voice falter once the cold started creeping through the castle walls.


	9. Castles

**Notes: Pretty self-explanatory, I think. Takes place in a mildly canon-divergent setting where essentially everything is the same, apart from shifting around some feelings.**

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 **Day Nine: true north | you and me | castles. 500 words.**

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From the corner of his eye, Jon saw his companion shiver and wrap her cloak even tighter around herself. He had _warned_ her about how cold it would be, but Sansa hadn't wanted to hear any of it – she was determined to follow him, even if she knew that they wouldn't allow her to stay.

"I just don't understand," she said, clearly unable to bear the silence any longer. It was typical for her, both because of what she had always been taught and because of her usual impatience for things that didn't make sense to her personally, and Jon pursed his lips. "You'll _never_ be able to come home."

"What's the point of me staying home?" They had had this conversation too many times for him to count already and Jon wished they wouldn't spend their last hours together like this, no matter how much she insisted on it. "I can't have my own heirs, I can do nothing for your house—"

" _Our_ house."

"It's not, though, is it?" They had the illusion of being alone, but not much more – Father was riding in front of them and it wouldn't do for him to overhear. The same went for the others, too – the significantly less voluntary future additions to the Night's Watch that rode behind them. "I'm no one outside of Winterfell and I am not enough of a Stark to stay inside it. What use am I to anyone?"

"You don't need to be useful to be important to people." They both slowed down at the sight of their father disappearing through the gates of Castle Black.

"You're Ned Stark's firstborn daughter; what do you know about being useless?" They finally came to a halt, heedless of the people slowly catching up to them. "By the time we next meet, you might already be married."

"We have _minutes_ left together and you want to spend them threatening me?"

"Sansa!" It was a difficult topic, he had to admit that much, but for reasons different from anything she could likely imagine. Why, _why_ did she have to make this that much more difficult than it needed to be? "You're betrothed to the _crown prince_. Your life will go on with or without me."

Sansa's expression hardened so quickly that she became almost unrecognisable for a moment. Then her heels dug into her horse's sides and she rode off without another word.

"That your woman?"

The face that greeted him when Jon looked up was an unfamiliar one – another candidate for the Wall. "What? No." _She's my sister. Barely even that. Barely even anything._

"Shame," the man shrugged. "What'd you end up here for?"

"I _want_ to be here." It wasn't a lie, but it didn't really sound that way given his snappish tone.

Just as he'd expected, the stranger shook his head. "Even you don't know what you want."

It wasn't a particularly nice thing to hear, but it was the truth and this time, Jon kept his silence.


	10. Home

**Notes: The final day! I decided to use my freedom to write something happy for once. As for the doubtlessly many inaccuracies in the way things would have gone for them to end up in this position, please keep in mind that a) despite having read the books, I'm primarily a show writer and am following whatever scarce information it has given us so far and b) I decided to keep Jon's name Jon just because I wanted it that way and for no other canon-related reason. It's a drabble. There's only so much you can do with it.**

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 **Day Ten: free choice. 400 words.**

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"See, it goes like this," Jon was saying, brushing his dark hair away from his eyes as he tried to tie the ribbon around their wrists one-handed. It wasn't really working out even on his fifth attempt and Sansa had to bite her lip to suppress her smile. He wouldn't be angry at her for laughing at him, she already knew him well enough to be able to tell, but it would still be _improper_. "We need to wrap it around our hands and then say the oath, and then it's done."

 _And then it's done_. It sounded so simple, and it would be; her aunt Lyanna had assured her of that. Of course, her aunt also happened to be the Queen and she was _supposed_ to comfort her future daughter-in-law, but it still had to count for something, right?

Either way, it would be fine, Sansa was sure of it. It was what she had dreamed of all her life; it was what she had been promised for as long as she could demand anything from her parents and here she was today, seeing it all come to life.

"I know they're not your gods," the prince continued, "and they're not entirely mine either, but it's what the people in this city believe in. And if we mean the words, then perhaps it won't matter. I see no reason for it not to be enough, and we could hold a second ceremony in the godswood if you'd like."

He sounded so earnest. Even if Sansa had had any doubts about any of this, she knew they would have evaporated by now. As it were, she just reached over, hand resting over his as he kept fussing over the ribbon.

"We can find a common ground, I'm sure."

They would. They _had_ , already, as they had known each other all their lives, but Jon's relief was still palpable in the tentative smile Sansa received in response to her encouragement. "As long as you're sure."

It was all very much going according to protocol and it was as much of a promise as they could afford to give one another, but it wasn't like they needed anything more than that – not for the first time in her life, Sansa looked at him as he stared out at the lake they had decided to sit next to and thought, _this is home_.


End file.
